


The Last Laugh

by scandalsavage



Series: Jason Todd Rare Pair Challenge [13]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Batman: Arkham - All Media Types
Genre: Bad Ending, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Double Penetration, Electrocution, Face-Fucking, Gangbang, Humiliation, Hurt No Comfort, Identity Porn, Implied/Referenced Torture, Implied/Referenced Underage Prostitution, Knives, M/M, Manipulation, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Object Insertion, Spitroasting, Triple Penetration, Umbrellas, Violent Sex, in the worst way
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-27
Updated: 2019-12-29
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:22:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21799828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scandalsavage/pseuds/scandalsavage
Summary: Jason has lost track of how long he's been held captive by the Joker and Harley Quinn. Every day runs together to form an unending, hopeless blur of pain and head games and more pain. He's long since given up on being rescued.But when Batman and Robin show up, he can't help but hope.
Relationships: Jason Todd/Clayface, Jason Todd/Julian Gregory Day | Calendar Man, Jason Todd/Other(s), Jason Todd/Professor Pyg, Jason Todd/Roland Desmond, Jason Todd/Thomas Blake | Catman, Jason Todd/Victor Zsasz, Joker (DCU)/Jason Todd, Oswald Cobblepot/Jason Todd
Series: Jason Todd Rare Pair Challenge [13]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1407088
Comments: 17
Kudos: 111
Collections: Batfam Kinkmas Exchange 2019, Jason Todd Rare Pair Challenge





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [inihiu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/inihiu/gifts).



> Bounce to the bottom for some spoilery warnings.
> 
> Thanks to Romiress for the beta.

Jason is back in the Robin suit.

It’s his first indication that something is wrong. Very wrong. More wrong than usual.

He hasn’t worn it since Joker shot him in the armored chest.

That had hurt. But at least he hadn’t still been hanging from the ceiling the way he had been for… way too long to be healthy.

The way he is now. Again.

His shoulders already ache. Jason isn’t sure how long he’s been like this. Time lost any meaning long ago. Sometimes he feels like he only even really exists when Joker or Harley are there. When they’re gone, there is nothing. His entire world has boiled down to a steady, relentless agony.

It’s hard to focus, his vision is a little blurry along the edges from whatever drug they gave him this time. It’s an effort to force his listless gaze to the nearest photo. Batman and _Robin_ . But not Jason. The _new and improved_ Robin. The one who replaced him when Bruce decided he wasn’t worth looking for anymore.

Making himself look at one of the many photos of the pair wallpapered across the room is a ritual. He’d call it daily but he really wouldn’t know. Just does it when he thinks about it. Hoping that if he forces himself to look, one day he’ll be able to see them without crying. That the most painful of the Joker’s weapons will lose its power.

Today is not that day though. The drug is making things blurry and sluggish but the emotions are sharp and harsh as ever. Tears prick at the edges of his eyes.

He turns away, squeezes his eyes shut, and tries to run a mental list of his injuries in the hopes that it will help clear some of the fog clouding his mind.

But like the many times before (especially when they ‘play’ with drugs), he never gets very far. Jason can feel the cracked rib when he tries to breathe but he has lost the ability to tell the severity of any of the damage. When everything bleeds together to form one malnourished, Jason Todd sized wound, it’s hard to distinguish where one injury stops and another begins. But the exercise takes his mind off _them._

Life has become a constant game of ‘would you rather’ between equally painful and horrifying options.

The door above the stairs behind him creaks the familiar scrape of metal on wood, announcing visitors to his hellish prison. The sound makes him flinch—every time—and he drowsily, weakly attempts to crane his head around to see who’s coming.

His toes scrape the floor as he sways on the chains making the room spin even more than the drugs coursing through him. The little light available streaks in his vision. He doesn’t feel in control of his limbs, can’t even get his legs to move to put any weight on his toes to stop the swinging.

Hushed voices—or voice? he can’t tell for sure—waft down the stairs, the words float around his head and he can’t make out anything firmly. All he knows it that it can’t be Joker or Harley. They’re incapable of entering a room without loudly announcing their arrival.

Heavy footsteps approach. Something in the back of Jason’s mind says _boots_. As they get closer, the sound is accompanied by the swishing sound of a heavy fabric.

Something wild and frantic and desperate in the back of his mind says _cape_.

“Jason?”

The sound of his name in that deep, gravelly voice immediately sends him into hysterical tears, body wracked with waves upon waves of trembling so strong he’s vibrating.

It’s not real. It can’t be. It’s another game; another sick ‘joke’.

Dreams of hearing that voice again, of ever feeling those big, gloved hands grasping hold of him the way they are now, had died so long ago. Years? It feels like years, even if it hasn’t been.

The small part of him that encourages him to be wary is instantly and thoroughly overwhelmed by the sheer, unadulterated, desperation for salvation.

The form at his back moves into his limited field of vision and Jason can’t breathe. What was left of his sight is clouded by tears that sting the open cuts along his face as they fall. But it doesn’t matter.

Bruce is here.

“B… B, B, B…” Jason can’t stop muttering it over and over again like a prayer. Like if he stops Bruce will disappear.

It feels like another eternity before Jason works through the haze over his mind and realizes that Bruce isn’t moving to help him down from where he’s hanging, hasn’t budged to help him out of his bindings. That Bruce is just… standing there, looking him up and down with a frown from behind the emotionless white lenses.

Whose hands are those, sliding up and down his back? Did Batman move back behind him? Time is... inconsistent here. 

Jason blinks quickly, trying to pull himself together but the whole room spins and the lights are like streaks of color through the weird fog that make details even harder.

The Bat still stands in front of him. He thinks.

“Oh Jason,” that voice says again. “You’re supposed to be dead. But I knew it wasn’t true. You’re too foolish to die.”

Jason tries to shake off the confusion. Whatever drugs are in him are making it hard to think, to see, to track time. How long has Bruce been here? An hour? Maybe two? Just looking at him in…

Disappointment.

Are those Bruce’s fingers poking under his waistband?

The words finally settle in his mind and Jason’s breath hitches on a miserable sob. Hearing Bruce admit he knew Jason was alive, hearing that Bruce thinks he’s stupid... it’s an old fear confirmed. 

But Batman _saves_ people. Not just smart people. Any people, even villains. The few loose thoughts Jason can wrangle into something coherent come down to leaving this place and dealing with anything else later.

“P-please… B… B… please… _s-save me_ ,” he begs, wincing as he sways slightly and the motion tugs on his aching shoulders.

He’s wanted to die. It has been his most desperate wish since Joker put those pictures up; when Jason _knew_ he had been abandoned. When Bruce had given up on him and moved on. But the clown wouldn’t let him.

Jason Todd has been an empty shell since then. It was the only way to survive the realization that the rest of his too long life would be at the Joker’s mercy. To be that psycho’s plaything until he got bored or accidentally killed his favorite toy. 

Shame washes through him. He should have never doubted Bruce would find him. He should have been stronger. He should have—

Batman sighs. “What would I do with you now, Jason?”

Fingers grasp his chin and tilt it up forcing him to look at the cowl. But he can’t make his eyes stay put. They keep listing off to the sides.

He thinks he sees a cleft in Bruce’s chin that he doesn’t remember but he can’t be sure. Wouldn’t know for sure if he’d even recognize Bruce after all this time in hell.

Even though it doesn’t sound like something Bruce would say, the words ring true and fear spikes through his heart and echoes down his body in even stronger tremors.

Something cold and rough slides past his waistband before a big, gloved hand squeezes his ass so hard he yelps.

Or would have yelped. But all he has the energy for is a pained grunt.

“Wh-what…?”

“You know I never wanted you, Jason,” Bruce says darkly. “But you were an expendable replacement for the first Robin. Your only value was in your usefulness. Now I’ve replaced you with someone much more skilled and capable. So… what use do I have for you now?”

The words creep into his soul and scoop out his heart. He can’t stop his eyes from rolling over to the nearest picture of his replacement even though he can’t make out the blurry image. Can’t stop the sob that escapes his throat.

Jason shakes his head desperately. “ _Please_ ,” he gasps, chokes, weeps. “I-I’m your s-son—”

There is a pause that feels like an eternity to Jason. He thinks he hears voices, but he can’t tell if they’re coming from behind him or inside his own head.

“A technicality,” Bruce finally responds, tone cold and detached. “Means to an end. You _know_ that, Jason.”

The hand drops his chin and slides lower, easily wrapping around most of his thin, malnourished neck. Then the thumb presses into the dip in his throat.

Jason sputters as the pressure increases and Bruce watches him impassively.

“I needed Robin. I don’t need you for that anymore. Maybe, if you’d been better at it. Maybe if you weren’t so weak and stupid. But now you’re just a liability. Dead weight.”

The hand stops squeezing at this throat in favor of continuing its downward journey, tracing the “R” on his breast, only stopping when it reaches his abdomen, fingers splayed wide across his belly, thumb dipping just below his waistband.

Behind him, what must be Bruce’s other hand dips between his cheeks and rough leather drags up and down the cleft, pausing each pass to press against his hole before moving on.

If Jason had the energy or presence of mind to jolt away, he would. All he can do is whimper his distress as tears start pouring down his face more relentlessly.

The thumb at his waist slides back and forth against the thin skin under the rags of the uniform. It fit him perfectly once, but now it hangs off his frame, several sizes too large.

“I didn’t realize how useless you were until you were gone. The new Robin isn’t even particularly good. He’s still not the original. But he’s just... so much better than _you_ in every way. It’s truly astounding. So how would you be _useful_ to us, Jason?”

His brain may be working sluggishly. But some long-forgotten part of him, the part that survived by any means necessary after he served his shitty parents up to the mob, _knows_ what is being loudly suggested without being outright stated.

The part of him that knows Bruce wouldn’t do this is small and quiet. He knew Bruce would find him, save him, much sooner. He isn’t sure about anything anymore.

And if he’s being completely honest with himself, he expected this particular shoe to drop much earlier. He had never really stopped expecting Bruce to call in the debt Jason owed him for all the older man did to get him off the streets. Bruce had choices, after all. Every kid in Gotham wants to be Robin. Jason figured the thing that set him apart from the others was... his experience in _other_ areas. Why else would a billionaire vigilante take on a kid no one else cared about?

Bruce is confirming all Jason’s deepest, darkest fears. That he was never good enough, that he was a convenient stopgap. That deep down Bruce believed he was weak and unworthy. That he was an unwanted waste of space; good for nothing more than an easy body.

He sobs again, an ugly wet thing, and sniffles.

The truth doesn’t change the reality.

Anything is better than here.

“ _Please_ …” he cries. “An-anything… I-I’ll do anything… _anything, anything, anything--_ ”

Because he will. He'll do _anything_ to get out of here, away from Joker and Harley and the constant, unending torture and head games.

“Hrn,” Bruce grunts as a single dry, leather clad finger pushes harder at his hole until it shoves in to the first knuckle.

Jason’s shout is cracked and broken, just like the rest of him. The hand on his belly joins the other at his groin— _that’s too many hands, isn’t it?_ But the touches linger and time is hard—and rip open his pants along the seam.

Bruce skips his cock entirely, goes straight for his balls and squeezes until Jason rasps out another yell and collapses in on himself, chin resting on his chest. He can make out the glint of light off the tears that drop onto Robin’s “R”, they look like little stars bursting, and he tries to focus on that.

Because the finger behind him keeps jabbing deeper, forcing itself past the reluctant muscle. The friction burns all the way up his throat. It’s too dry; hurts too much. His tolerance for pain is high. But this is a new kind of torture. One his body hasn't gotten used to yet. The hint of familiarity in it is too distant a memory to be able to call upon.

He doesn’t dare say anything. Doesn’t dare protest anything. He'll take it. He can't spend another day here if there's any hope of leaving. He can't.

“Show us what you'll do for deliverance. How you'll _serve us_ when you bring nothing to the cause.”

The words come out in a low, dark, rumble that makes Jason’s skin crawl the way nothing has since Joker first forced him to eat rotten food. There is something off about it but it’s probably just because he convinced himself he’d never hear Bruce say something like that to him.

A naive child's foolish hope.

Jason nods as vigorously as he can through the hazy tears. “Anything,” he whispers. " _Please_."

Someone laughs behind him, so Jason blinks up at Batman, trying, again, to bring him into focus in a vain attempt to stop losing track of his movements.

Or maybe Bruce just laughed, and Jason’s head is fucked enough to throw the sounds around the room. He’s certainly had enough concussions down here to have some serious brain damage.

There isn’t much time to dwell on it though. The finger jams in all the way and makes Jason choke on his own air. It works at him much more ruthlessly, shoving in and out in quick repetition. Batman’s grin is wide and cruel. When he lifts Jason’s legs, the blunt, warm head of his cock prods at his still occupied hole.

"Is he ready, Robin?" Batman growls. 

A snort sounds loudly in Jason's ear and he cringes, then whimpers in pain when the motion sets off all his injuries. But that's nothing to the way his heart breaks. 

_Robin is here._ Bruce is... is... is going to let his replacement—the man who is so much better than Jason—Bruce is going to let him... 

_He said 'us'_ , the awful voice in Jason's mind supplies, _who else did you think he meant?_

"Not at all," Robin says and punctuates the words with a sharp bite to Jason's ear. "But he's gonna have to get used to taking it whenever, isn't he?"

A second finger shoves inside him, all the way to the hilt, in one terrible, awful, agonizing movement. 

Jason shrieks and it comes out as raspy, breathy thing, barely audible. 

But they heard him. They laugh at him. 

The popping sound of a cap echoes through the caverns of Jason's mind as he weeps and desperately tries to think of something else. 

But a voice in his head keeps pulling him back to the groggy present. Reminding him that he has to be good; has to do well, make them happy. 

"Just a little," Batman says, speaking over Jason's shoulder to Robin. "Don't really care if the slut gets hurt. But goin' in dry isn't gonna be too much fun for me."

He sounds different. He's talking funny. The words don't sound quite right the way they did before. Jason tries to blink the tears out of his eyes and get a better look. 

Some of the grogginess has cleared but a small pinch at his neck sends him right back into the deep drugged state with it's soft, fuzzy edges. 

It's kinda pretty, Jason thinks as his head lolls back to rest on what must be Robin's shoulder.

There's a mean chuckle in Jason's ear followed by the dig of teeth at his throat, above the collar of his own, tattered Robin uniform. They worry at the flesh between them until Jason sobs out loud and feels blood drip down his neck and dampen the fabric. 

At the same time, Batman laughs, reaches out and presses his fingers into the skin of Jason's face when he takes him roughly by the chin.

"You want to quit already?" he rumbles. "You're already a whore for offering. Might as well go through with it if you want to get your payment."

Jason shakes his head vigorously. He can't speak. Not with those thick, gloved fingers forcing his body to accommodate them. Every jab, every crook and scissor, makes Jason's breathy sobs stick in his throat. So he can't tell them everything that Joker and Harley have done to him. Can't tell him about the years of beatings, electrocutions, the waterboarding, the mind games, the rotten food, the rats. The Arkham staff. The other villains. Even if his voice was working properly, his tongue feels fat and his jaw feels heavy. Instead he tries to lean into them, show how serious he is about doing anything to get out of here. 

A part of himself he never thought he'd have to look at again tries to comfort him. Reminds him that this isn't the first time he's done _anything_ to survive. It doesn't mean he deserves what has happened. It doesn't make his life less valuable.

_It doesn't._

It doesn't...

Something cold and wet presses to his entrance, still being roughed up by Robin's graceless hands.

"He pretty tight?"

"Fuck, man. I thought Joker and Harley would have taken the bitch for a test drive or a hundred but he feels like damn virgin."

Batman groans. 

Jason heaves. There's no food in him but even so, he just barely managing to keep down the stomach bile that surges up this gullet at the thought of the Joker—or Harley—touching him like this. 

Then he bites down the urge to check out so that he doesn't have to hear the callous way they're talking about him. Like he's a thing. Like he's a thing that they don't particularly care about.

The reality of what's happening scratches over the things he thought he knew. That Bruce saved him. Adopted him. Wanted him and loved him the way his own father never did. Loved him as any _real_ father would their son. That his real father is Bruce and he loves Bruce for loving him when he thought no one ever would.

All that shatters in wake of Bruce's lubed up cockhead dragging back and forth from just behind Jason's sack to where Robin blocks further progress, and Jason sobs openly, audibly and ugly when it pauses at his entrance.

Robin chuckles and spreads his fingers. 

Batman starts shoving his cock in between Robin's fingers. 

It feels like they are purposefully being as rough and cruel as possible. Perhaps it's test. They're making sure he really will do whatever they want from him.

" _Jesus christ_. You weren't kidding." Batman grunts with a harsh upward thrust.

Jason can barely feel the tears streaming down his face as he tries desperately to breathe through the pain. Batman's cock is _huge._ He didn't see it but it feels like it must be as wide as the man's fist and since he hasn't bottomed out yet, it must be as long as his forearm. And Robin's fingers are still there, moving, hooking and pulling up maliciously at Jason's rim until Jason is certain that he's torn and bleeding.

Suddenly the fingers are gone. There's little relief to be had but at least it's not quite as overwhelming as it was a moment ago.

Then Robin tilts Jason's head back with a grip on his chin and shoves those fingers past Jason's lips. 

The metallic tang of blood tells Jason he was right about that sharp, searing pain being a tear in his flesh.

Robin pumps his fingers into Jason's mouth as roughly as Batman fucks away at his ass. 

He's stretched so wide it doesn't seem possible and whatever lube he had applied is gone now. The head of Bruce's dick keeps drilling into the back of his cavity like the man thinks he can punch through Jason's insides to get deeper.

It's excruciating. Jason can't do anything but cry and take it and try to keep his mind from following dangerous thoughts to their deeply unhappy conclusions. Thoughts like... _what hurts more, this or Joker's crowbar? Doe this hurt worse than the drill? The torch?_

Not that he can differentiate between types of pain anymore. But he doesn't want to go there. What if the answer is yes?

What if the answer is yes, Bruce is hurting him worse than Joker has?

"Let's get him down," Robin says, hand dropping out of Jason's mouth to find a rip in Jason's tunic near his chest which he tears open so that he can use his spit and blood-slicked fingers to pinch and pull at Jason's now exposed nipple. "I want to get in on this."

"Wait your turn."

Jason can feel Robin's mouth curl into a wicked smile against his throat. 

"You don't want to rip this bitch open?" He shoves a gloved finger back up Jason’s ass alongside Batman’s huge cock, making Jason choke.

The idea makes Jason's blood run cold. As if to add to the terror, Batman slams against the back of Jason's passage again and grinds his hips in a circle as if to carve him open wider. 

He doesn’t say anything, just grunts and keeps thrusting away, his hands at Jason’s narrow, bony hips, trying to drag him down further. But Batman helps shoulder the weight when Robin frees him from the chain keeping him suspended and he slumps forward with an anguished whine.

Jason’s shoulders creak as they’re allowed to drop into a different position for the first time in what feels like hours, sharp blades of pain slice down his arms and back and chest. Hard to tell though, his shoulders always hurt.

Searching for what little comfort he can find, Jason nuzzles into the curve of Batman’s throat as the older man shifts to the floor. He roughly drags Jason down with him, managing to continue to rabbit his hips into Jason's broken body the whole way.

"You sure are desperate for your dad's cock," Batman growls into his ear as Robin laughs like it's funny and presses against where Jason's rim is already stretched taught around his mentor's huge dick. 

"Such an eager slut for it," Robin agrees, wedging a now bare finger into him to hook around the tightened muscle and pull up. 

Jason feels the stinging, stabbing sensation that alerts his brain to the fact the the sensitive opening has torn again. He tries to tell himself that pain is just a chemical response to certain stimuli. But with how foggy his mind still is, and the head of Robin's erection pressing against the small pace the finger has made, it's difficult to remember.

Then someone's fingers thread through Jason's sweat damp curls. Everything is too hazy but there were already four hands on him. Bruce's on either hip, one of Robin's gripping an ass cheek tightly, spreading him open while the other viciously tries to make room for something Jason is certain won't fit. 

"It's who he is," a new voice, bright and jovial, adds. "You're just remembering your roots, aren't you little wing?"

Only one person calls him that. 

He yelps when his head jerked back by his hair, forcing him mostly upright from where he'd been laying across Batman's broad chest. 

Seeing Nightwing standing in front of him with big, bright grin splitting his face, erection already pulled free from his suit, spare hand gripping one of his electric escrima, douses the small, fading ember of hope that this was all one of Jason's night terrors or a hallucination. Everything from his voice to the cut of his jaw to the carefree jut of his hip is exactly how Jason remembers him.

"Sorry I'm late," Nightwing says to the others who don't seem to care that he's there one way or the other. "Wardrobe malfunction."

Robin snorts behind him and Batman huff out an amused breath, like they're sharing an inside joke.

Suddenly the business end of that escrima is dragging down Jason's wet, cheekbone, along his jaw dripping tears, to tilt his chin up even more. Waves of shuddering wrack through Jason's body, one after the other with no end in sight and he cries harder, silently begging Dick not to switch it on. He's been electrocuted plenty down here. But never by Dick. 

Batman he can handle, it was always there in the back of his mind no matter how many times Bruce proved the fears unwarranted. Robin? He doesn't even know Robin. 

But Dick? Jason has been in love with admired Dick since before he got mixed up in all this. Since Dick's own Robin days. And the former boy wonder had always been so kind. J

"Don't worry, baby," Nightwing hums, "We'll stuff you and fill you up, the way you're meant to be."

Nightwing steps forward. Looking down at Jason with a benevolent smile as he pokes at Jason's lips with the end of his prick.

"Be a good boy, Little Wing. Do a good job and we can take you out of here."

The moment Jason starts to open his mouth, Dick shoves his way in, forcing his cock down into Jason's throat and pressing his hips against Jason's nose in one brutal move. 

Choking and sputtering, Jason tries to catch a breath as Nightwing starts up a quick, hard pace but he doesn't have the chance to suck in enough air. After only a few thrusts, he starts to feel light headed. 

Then Batman says, "Been waiting to do this since we found you," waits for Jason's wounded sniffle, and adds, "Why do you think I took you, a little street whore, in?"

Memories of saving a beaten and bloody Batman from Joker, thoughts of stealing and running messages/drugs/whatever for the mob, all flash through his mind as if to remind him that he wasn't _just_ a whore, that he only did that when he was desperate. 

They're all snuffed out before they can settle, before they can ease his mind at all, as Robin abruptly forces his way inside. 

Jason screams. He _hears_ his flesh rip above the rush of blood in his ears. It's excruciating and horrifying and he reacts on instinct trying desperately to wriggle away from the ruthless assault as the men splitting him in two pound into him ruthlessly. With Batman's hands at his hips, one of Robin's finds purchase at Jason's shoulder while the other grips his waist tight enough to bruise. 

Nightwing groans at the vibrations of Jason's scream around him and fucks Jason's throat harder. He pulls at Jason's hair. So hard he can feel strands pull free, even past the sharper sting of Dick's nails digging into his scalp.

They're all using their immense strength to drag him bodily up and down their cocks. He feels like he's being pulled in a hundred directions. The more insistently Robin jerks him back, the more forcefully Nightwing drags him forward, the more viciously Batman slams him down.

"You're going to have to do better than that," Batman snarls, even though it sounds labored and on edge. "If you want to leave this place, prove your worth the effort."

The waterfall of tears streaming down his face either get fucked into his mouth by Nightwing's thrusts, or drip off his chin to land on Batman's chest. 

Jason braces his cuffed hands against Batman's armored abdomen and _tries_ to do better. Tries to roll his hips down and back to meet the relentless, fevered hammering of Batman and Robin pounding into him, carving him so wide open there will almost certainly be permanent damage. Tries to hollow his cheeks and suck at Dick's cock, to flick his tongue along the shaft and the slit at the tip.

He tries _desperately_ to show all the enthusiasm they could want from him as he shoves down his own revulsion and heartbreak. 

He has to get out of here. This isn't as bad as Joker. He has to get out of this hellhole. This isn't as bad as the Joker. He can't stay imprisoned here any longer or he'll break. Joker will break him. He has to get out and if this is what Bruce and Dick and his replacement want in exchange for that... he doesn't have a choice.

They laugh at him.

Dick croons down at him about how he expected an experienced _professional_ to be better than the drunk chick he let blow him in the bathroom at a rave. 

He pulls Jason back right before he finishes. Leaves just the head of his cock between Jason's lips, holds him in place, and pours hot, salty, come across Jason's tongue. He pulls out all the way towards the end, making sure the last of his orgasm spurts across Jason's face.

Robin breathlessly bites out that his high school girlfriend's first attempt at a handy in the movie theater was more satisfying than Jason at his tightest. Even as his pace stutters and he grunts after a few extra rough thrusts that send pain snaking up Jason's spine and he dumps his load deep in Jason's ass. 

The come stings the internal tears as Bruce keeps pumping away. Jason is trembling like a leaf in the wind as that giant cock scrapes against his walls, rubbing Robin's release into his wounds and aggravating the damage until Jason can do nothing but weep and shudder as he's used. 

Until Bruce comes with a cry, grinding his hips up and Jason's down. Jason can feel the hot, stinging seed spill into him; can feel Batman's cock twitch with the convulsions of Jason's body.

"If you weren't as loose as a two dollar whore right now, I'd think you were trying to milk me dry," Batman rumbles with a mean smirk. 

Jason whimpers as Batman shoves him off almost immediately, grateful for finally being allowed to sink, exhausted and boneless to the grimy floor. 

He feels empty in more ways than one. It's like he's been hollowed out. The things that once made him Jason Todd are gone. All that's left is a shell.

Come and blood leak out of him and air wafts into him in a way it shouldn't be able to. He's vaguely aware of movement around him but he is physically incapable of holding himself up. They're going to have to carry him out of here. 

Distantly, Jason thinks he'd hate to see the state he's in. 

But if the world was fuzzy before, it's even worse now. Nothing will come into focus and his ears are buzzing. 

The knowledge that he's leaving, he's really going to get to escape the Joker's insanity, is the only keeping him from falling apart.

Then he notices the buzzing is getting louder. Someone lifts him. Jason bites down on a whine and tries not to think about the wetness flooding out of his loosened hole. Robin sets him on his knees, chafed wrists still locked in his cuffs and lying limply in his lap, looking up at Dick. 

Dick who is frowning down at him, electric current rippling across the tip of his escrima.

His predecessor's hand reaches out and Jason is too weak, too wrecked in every way to physically flinch the way his sluggish brain tells him he should.

Dick's fingers trace over the Robin emblem on his chest. Then they hook over the edge of the "R" and snap back, ripping the badge from his chest.

Jason just blinks at the hole in his uniform for a moment, trying to understand. 

When he's finally able to look back up his vision is almost completely obscured with tears and his breath is hitching on every short inhale. 

"I don't know why I thought you'd succeed at this," Bruce says, voice cold and indifferent. "I guess I believed you when you said you'd do anything to leave here. You could have just said you'd rather stay with the Joker."

Jason gawks at him, heart thudding too fast in his chest, breath coming faster and faster as panic sets in.

"I can't believe I let you carry my mantle," Dick snarls. He at least has emotion, even if it is anger and disappointment. "You were right, Robin. He's useless."

Robin circles round into view, looking smug with a predatory grin. "No hard feelings. It's hard to let go. Sometimes you need to see how completely worthless someone is in order to really move on."

Falling forward onto his hands, Jason tries to get control of his breathing enough to get words out.

"No," he croaks as they turn to leave. It's a rough and shredded sound, exactly as desperate as he feels. 

Robin is already halfway up the stairs but Jason can only focus on Batman.

He uses every ounce of strength to crawl up to Bruce and grab onto his belt. 

Batman glares down at him from behind white lenses.

"What?"

"Please," Jason sobs into his hip. He can't say anything else. His head is swimming in drugs and pain and hopelessness. " _Pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease..._ "

He begs over and over again, clinging to the man he thought loved him.

"You want a second chance?" Batman asks after a moment of consideration.

Jason sags against him. Nods because that's all he can do. 

His eyes are squeezed shut, damp lashes sticking together even as more fat droplets slip past. But with the rustle of fabric and the hips he's clinging to shifting, Jason isn't surprised when he feels Batman's warm length against his face. 

Even without opening his eyes, he can tell it's still mostly soft but quickly filling. 

He doesn't hesitate. Doesn't look either, can't risk seeing how long and thick it is, coated in his own blood. Can't risk chickening out. 

He swallows Bruce down as far as he can go in one shot. Then forces himself lower, cuts off his own air, stretches his cracked lips so wide they split. Which is fine because at least Jason can pretend that metallic taste of blood is from his lips and not.....

The whole world narrows to this one action. Everything around him fades and the only sounds Jason can hear are the desperate, wet slurping noises from his own mouth.

Jason manages to summon energy from somewhere. 

When he was on the streets, he'd been told he was good at this and he pulls out all the tricks he can remember. He pulls back, uses his hands while he makes a show of swiping his tongue along the hard, prominent vein and pressing the tip of his tongue against the hole of Bruce's cock. He mouths at Bruce's balls and sucks on the head of his dick like he's sucking through a straw.

Eventually Batman holds his head still and takes control, fucking his mouth as brutally as the man had fucked his ass. When he comes again he presses Jason's nose into the patch of course blond hair and fills Jason's mouth faster than he can swallow.

" _-ungh-_ Yes, _fuck_ . That's it, drink it all down you dumb slut, _shit_."

Ignoring the urge to cough, Jason does. He swallows everything in his mouth then leans in again to lick Batman's dick clean. Even goes back further to lap at his balls again, just to be safe.

" _Jesus, fuck."_

It sounds like good news. And Bruce finished much faster this time. 

Finally Batman grabs his chin and pulls him away, looking him straight in the eye.

"Better," he says and pauses just long enough for Jason to think it was enough before smirking at him and adding, "but not nearly good enough. Goodbye, Jason."

Jason collapses forward, unable to breathe, as Bruce turns away from him.

A hand on his hip is the only warning he gets before something cold and wide and solid presses against his abused hole. He shrieks in agony as it's jammed inside of him, too hard and stiff, too unyielding to be anything made of flesh.

Bright laughter peals from behind him as he cries and tries to scramble away. But he's held fast as the object is forced deeper and deeper into him, pushed in an inch, pulled back, shoved further. And resistance Jason's body puts up is brutally ignored.

"Just because you're no good to us," Dick purrs in his ear, hot breath fanning over Jason's cheek, chilling the damp tear stains, "doesn't mean you're useless to someone else. If nothing else, you'd make a good fuckhole for the Arkham inmates."

Dick fucks him so hard with the escrima, it drives him into the floor, gasping for air. 

Then Nightwing pauses with the rod as far up Jason's passage as it can get, grins down at him, and presses the button.

Sheer, excruciating agony washes over every inch of Jason as the electric pulses of the escrima spread through him, lacing up his spine and fanning out across his ribs. 

Jason twitches and writhes and screams as Nightwing steps back, watching with amusement as Jason tries to reach between his legs with his bound hands to remove the thing that's tormenting him. 

Jason doesn't dare to hope. But he can't help that he does.

He can't reach it though. And he can't see through the tears or hear through his own anguished cries to notice that Batman, Robin, and Nightwing have removed their cowls and masks to watch. To notice that Robin peels off a fleshy cap to release blond hair. To notice the way Nightwing's skin ripples unnaturally or Batman's shoulder-length auburn locks.

Jason doesn't notice the Joker at the top of the stairs patting each of them on the back and ushering them out of the way so that the people on the other side of the door can enter.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooooooo.... check the tags. They’ve been updated.

The number of Arkham’s finest filing into the room is just... hilarious. The little munchkin is definitely in for a long night. 

Joker doesn’t even recognize most of these people. 

There’s the usual suspects of course. Bane, who was offended he wasn’t recruited to play Batman but Joker thinks it’s pretty obvious why he wouldn't have been convincing... Bane is way too big; Ozzy, swinging that silly umbrella around in a way that makes Joker giddy for what the little freak has planned; then a string of C to Z-listers that could be Arkham  _ staff _ as far as he knows. 

In fact, Joker’s certain that Boles just walked past. Did he invite him? Joker can’t remember. Must’ve.

By the time Desmond, Blake, and Clayface change out of the Batman, Robin, and Nightwing costumes and head back down for more, the others have already formed a loose circle around the writhing, weeping little bird.

“What’s the matter, Robin?” Penguin taunts, pressing his shoe to the end of the escrima sticking out of Jason’s ass to push the still live end... well not deeper, because it’s obviously got nowhere to go, but trying to force it deeper just to hear the darling boy scream. “Does this hurt, slut?”

Jason tries to scramble away and it’s so adorable, his boy trying to escape against such dire odds, that he can’t help but smile and shake his head with an indulgent sigh. 

A huge hand grabs the kid’s ankle (or rather, half his lower leg) and pulls him back to the middle of the group. The men laugh while the boy sobs into the grimy floor.

He’s still trying, weakly, to jerk out of their holds as Bane shoves his way front and center, stroking his huge, monster cock he’s already fished out of his pants. 

“Now wait just a damn minute.” 

Is that  _ Calendar Man _ ? 

Joker giggles, leaning his weight against the doorframe at the top of the stairs. Is there a more absurd, less relevant creature than Calendar Man?

Maybe Condiment King.

Or Kite Man.

“If you go first it’s gonna wreck the bitch’s ass. The rest of us are gonna have to double team the little shit just to get any friction.”

“I fail to see how that is  _ my _ problem,” Bane snaps, flipping Jason over onto his back. 

The birdie sings again, loud and shrill; music to Joker’s ears. The shift of the electric rod stuffed up his hole must be agonizing.

“No matter what we do to him, he’ll still feel like a virgin to you if you go last,” Cobblepot adds reasonably. “If you go first, he’ll be looser than a two dollar whore at the end of the night.”

“And you’d know what that’s like, wouldn’t you, Penguin?” someone teases from the edges.

“Who said that? I’ll have your—“

“You are welcome to stop me if you can, tiny man,” Bane all but threatens. He reaches down between the kid’s legs, twists the escrima, rolls it like an oar as if to carve the little slut open wider, makes sure the electric end scrapes around the walls of the snug passage as it’s pulled out.

Jason cries and thrashes, mouth falling open in a broken, raspy scream. Bane holds him down with a giant hand to his chest.

The others all laugh at his obvious pain. 

“Couple more times getting his face fucked, and his throat’ll be so raw  _ no _ sound will come out,” laughs Thomas Blake, currently acting as Catman but best known for his role as Robin.

He toes one of the former boy wonder’s arms away from where it weakly tries to push off Bane, pins the palm to the floor with his heel, and grinds down.

Even Joker can hear fragile bones grind and snap from where he stands, looking down at the scene from on high.

The group laughs again. Someone else mimics Catman’s idea and steps on the kid’s other hand, pulling another broken scream from those abused pipes complimented by the accompanying crunch of bones and tendons. 

Good thing his boy knows how to withstand the torture, Joker thinks with another giggle.

Bane hands the escrima off to someone—maybe Zsasz?—who giddily turns up the charge and presses it to Jason’s chest. First one nipple, then the other. He chokes and tries to twist away but Bane’s hands clamp down on his hips. Their so big and Jason’s so skinny that the digits of each hand aren’t just touching, but  _ overlapped _ . 

Bane is easily six or seven times the kid’s size. The huge, green-veined cock he’s holding might be even thicker than Joker’s arm. The thought makes the clown shudder and his grin grow even wider.

The organ is so big and heavy that when Bane hooks a thumb under Jason’s small, limp dick to pull it up and out of the way, and smacks Jason’s balls with it, the kid chokes on a sob and redoubles his efforts to squirm his lower body away from the onslaught.

While the others laugh even harder, Bane hits the boy’s sensitive balls again; and a third time just to watch him flail. 

The person with the escrima seems to think that’s a fine idea. He slides the electric tip down Jason’s sternum and across his belly as far as he can go before he hits Bane’s hands. He skips them and, without warning, jabs the tased end to Jason’s balls.

The kid’s voice is hoarse and overused, his screams fractured; fading in and out as he thrashes instinctively. By now he must know he can’t escape. He’s probably all but checked out, just to spare himself some consciousness. But he can’t stop his body from desperately trying to flee the steady stream of torment.

“Look at it wriggle like a worm on a hook,” someone chortles.

Bane watches for a moment, eyes dark and nostrils flared at the sight. He busies himself ripping off the last remaining shreds of the ill-fitting Robin suit while the men standing over them make more comments. 

“You deserve this, baby,” Clayface whispers into the boy’s ear using Nightwing’s voice. “This is what happens to whores who aren’t good enough.”

Joker almost kills him then and there. A misplaced comment now could give away the game. The Bat and his birds are supposed to have gone, leaving the lost Robin—feeling rejected and abandoned—to his fate at the hands of all their rogues. 

However, with all the drugs Joker pumped into his boy, and the delightful little experience he just went through with the people he loves, Joker decides he can let this one slide. Especially when his little J just whimpers and cries harder. Like the voice is in his head, in his memories, confirming his worst fears.

And isn’t that an endearing thought.

Finally, Bane finishes with the rags and swats the escrima away.

“If that thing comes near me I will pull your head from your body,” he says almost conversationally.

He grips the boy’s knees, hands wrapping all the way around, and hauls Jason towards him so that the kid’s ass rests on Bane’s meaty thighs. 

Little J goes easily, body limp and largely unresponsive. For a moment, Joker thinks he’s passed out. 

But no. His eyes are wide, filled with tears waiting their turn to fall, and staring off into the distance without seeing.

Those bright blue eyes disappear. Jason squeezes them shut as the wide, bulbous head of Bane’s monstrous cock presses against his used, sensitive rim.

There’s no way it’s going to fit. It looks even more alarmingly, absurdly, comically enormous between the kid’s bony fucking legs. Jesus it’s nearly as long as Little J’s entire upper leg and  _ thicker  _ than his starved arm. It’s gonna split the kid in half just by entering him at all.

Touching people for anything other than bashing their brains in has never really been Joker’s cup of acid. But he has to admit—at least to himself—that watching his plan unfold so perfectly, seeing his new sidekick so primed for the last step of the plan, that an unfamiliar warmth pools low, stirring something that’s never stirred before.

Seeing how tortured his mind is certainly helps too. If Joker had known that it’d be this much fun taking the Bat’s birds apart he would have started with the first one. 

It’s the best joke he’s ever come up with. Stealing a birdie and making it his own.

Little J buries his teeth in his lip so hard it bleeds as Bane pulls him onto his cock.

Joker has to say, he’s impressed. Jason makes it a whole three inches, tears  _ pouring  _ down his cheeks, before he can’t take it anymore. His mouth drops open and he half screams, half sobs, pawing weakly at Bane to try to shove him off. 

It works about as well as a kitten trying to stop a train.

Joker stifles a chuckle at his own joke. His boy is pretty preoccupied but it’s best that Little J not know he’s there until he’s ready. 

Bane is basically that train; unrelenting as he steadily pulls Jason further down his fat prick. From this angle, Joker can see the way Jason’s hole stretches around the massive invasion. The lighting is purposefully dim, but if the dark smudges growing between the boy’s thighs are any indication, he’s definitely torn. 

The others alternate between grumbling about Bane ruining the bitch before they get their turns and laughing at the little sluts gasps for air. What’s in his lungs gets driven out as he’s impaled on a fucking  _ pole  _ of a cock. 

“Jesus, what’s the matter  _ Robin _ ? Can’t take a little pain?”

“Come on, skank. This is the least you can do seeing how we’ve been taken such good care of ya the last couple o’ years.”

“Yeah,  _ suck it up _ , baby.”

“Fuck, they’re cute when they cry.”

One of the mob steps forward, feet on either side of the kid’s head, and starts to unzip his trousers. 

Ugh. Of course it’s Pyg. Nasty, fat, slob of a man. 

“You look hungry, darling,” Pyg oinks, pushing the hand not fishing out his cock under Jason’s shoulders to lift them off the floor. “Got a nice, thick pork chop for you.”

He stays positioned facing Bane, seemingly unwilling to turn his back to the giant. So the way Jason is tilted in Bane’s lap—hips up, shoulders down—allows for slightly easier access, but the arch of the kid’s back and neck is pretty exaggerated and looks pretty painful when Pyg pries open Jason’s jaw and shoves his cock in.

“Be a sweet little doll, and don’t bite down or instead of fixing your pretty face to make it perfect, I’ll have to ruin it.”

Personally, Joker thinks the warning is probably unnecessary. Little J seems pretty out of it, just going through the motions in an adorable, hilariously futile attempt to minimize the bad things happening to him. 

“Holy fuck,” Desmond laughs, not quite as deep voiced as he was during his starring role as Batman. “I can fucking  _ see your dick  _ in his throat.”

Pyg keeps one hand under Jason’s shoulders to keep him upright as Bane pounds that cute little ass from the other side. The other he wraps around the kid’s neck, fingers over Adam’s apple; feels his cock slide back as he pulls out to the tip. Feels the tight, slick heat forced open around his length, and the skin beneath his hand expand as he pushes back in and stuffs the kid’s throat full again.

The two men set a brutal, uneven pace. They shove in, then try to force themselves further. Every few seconds Zsasz zaps the brat’s tits. It makes Bane’s hips stutter as Jason’s muscles spasm and he clenches even tighter around him. It makes Pyg groan and thrust harder into Jason’s mouth at the vibrations from his gagged shouts.

Pyg doesn’t last very long. After just a couple minutes, Jason is coughing and sputtering around the cock shoved deep down his esophagus, come dribbling out from where his lips meet hot, hard, veiny shaft. 

“Making a fucking mess,” someone says.

“Thought whores knew how to swallow,” another laughs.

“Guess he’s just gonna have to clean the floor when we’re through.”

Patting Little J on the cheek, Pyg backs off. 

Zsasz tosses the escrima into the crowd and produces a shiv from... somewhere, brandishing it at the others to claim the vacant hole.

He doesn’t seem as wary about turning his back on Bane. Zsasz pushes the kid down, straddles his face, and gets to it. 

Joker straightens a little, ready to intervene if he must. He has big plans for his boy and Zsasz tends to be a little... stabby. Even at the best of times. 

Fortunately all he does is trace over the “J” brand on Little J’s face with the tip of the blade, just before he pulls out, keeping the kid’s jaw propped open by digging into the hinges, and pumps his release all over Jason’s tongue.

By now, Joker’s pet project is boneless, letting himself be shifted and used. His eyes are glazed over—when they’re open at all—and a steady stream of tears streak down his reddened cheeks. 

Bane finishes with a loud grunt. He’s been trying to bottom out the whole time, stuffing as much of his thick, foot long cock into the kid as he can. He tries a final time as his come pours into the absolutely wrecked hole. It leaks, tinged pink with blood, when Bane finally pulls out. 

Penguin saunters up after him. Now that the kid is lying on the floor, shivering, covered in sweat, blood, come, and tears. Cobblepot pokes the boy with the pointed end of his umbrella.

“Fuck’s sake,” he grumbles. “Completely unresponsive. What fun is it now?” 

He turns on Bane. “You selfish bastard.”

Bane just smirks at him. Then reaches down, loops a big hand around the back of Jason’s neck, and hauls him upright. 

“Clean me off, nino,” he growls, holding his cock, covered in come and blood, in his spare hand. He presses it to the boy’s lips which open obediently but he doesn’t force himself in. 

Which is too bad, Joker thinks. It be hilarious if Little J had a smile to match his. The Bat would be doubled over in laughter when he saw. 

Instead Bane supports the kid’s head as Jason mouths weakly at Bane’s softened length.

“You can do better than that little one. I would recommend it, or the consequences will prove quite painful.”

The brat whimpers but his eyes flutter open just a crack and he licks a more meaningful stripe up the underside then starts lapping and sucking at the rest as he hiccups around his tears.

After a few minutes, Ozzy pipes up again and Joker wonders eagerly if he’s going to get to see Bane turn the little monster into a gory smear tonight.

“You’ve had your fun, Bane,” Cobblepot spits. “Time to share the wealth.”

The way Bane tenderly combs his fingers through  _ Joker’s _ little sidekick in training, makes the clown feel murderous.

Or...  _ more _ murderous than usual, at any rate. 

Then the giant is tucking himself away and moving to stand against the wall at the foot of the stairs. He doesn’t even glance at Joker, as if it doesn’t matter if he’s there or not. 

Joker wonders if he can change his plans and kill the beast tonight instead. 

“Well,” Oz says, voice dark and full of wicked promises, kicking Jason until he’s on his belly, then knocking his legs apart. “Let’s see if we can’t wake you up a bit. Still got a long night ahead of you. A whore with lots of customers needs to have better endurance than this. But don’t worry. We’ll teach you.”

He nods at Catman who comes forward and lifts the kid’s hips so that he’s on his knees, ass in the air, face on the floor. 

Penguin saunters up in between Little J’s spread legs, and drags the tip of the umbrella down the curve of that arched spine, all the way to the start of his crack. Then keeps going.

Catman maneuvers Jason’s face so that his mouth is near the drops of come he couldn’t swallow earlier and shoves him down.

“It’s good manners to clean up your mess. Dirty little bitch like you... probably never taught that. We’ll just have to add that to the curriculum.”

Jason seems to have given up entirely. Without complaint, his pink tongue slowly slips out from between his lips, and he very slowly closes the distance and licks up the little splashes of jizz that he wasn’t able to swallow down earlier. 

Joker has no doubt that Oz, at least, will make his boy clean up what’s dribbled out of the other end when they’re finished later. 

Or maybe Joker will. Depends on how things play out. He likes to have a certain amount of flexibility in these things.

Jason’s whole body goes rigid when he feels the umbrella dip between his buttocks. But Cobblepot doesn’t give any time for the poor thing’s drugged up brain to come to the obvious conclusion before shoving the pointed end of that stupid fucking umbrella into the hole left gaping open from Bane.

It seems to be the stimulus Little J needs to snap out of his daze. He shrieks again, finally rediscovering his voice, and starts flailing, attempting to escape the onslaught. 

Oz pushes the umbrella in deeper and deeper. He seems mesmerized by how it keeps going, how the rim of the kid’s hold just keeps stretching open around the folded fabric wings. 

But eventually he snaps out of it too and starts fucking it in and out as fast and hard as he can. 

After less than a minute of the assault (or just over, time is difficult when you’re watching your future sidekick get the life beat and fucked out of him while simultaneously trying to ignore a growing... problem down south that has never happened before), Jason collapses in a heap.

“P-please,” he manages to rasp out between screams and sobs. “S-stop.. p-p-lease....”

And then he can’t say anything because someone shoves cock past his lips.

The group laughs and ignores him. They start making loud plans about what they’re going to do to the little fucktoy when he’s got an open hole.

Meanwhile, Oz starts slowly forcing the umbrella open. The Penguin’s eyes are wide and his lips are curled up in the evilest smile Joker’s ever seen on any face (his own, notwithstanding).

Joker lets him get just far enough that Jason is choking himself on the cock down his throat as he tries to scramble forward to get away. Then he raps his knuckles sharply on the wall. 

Cobblepot ignores him or doesn’t hear. But Bane notices and correctly interprets Joker’s nod to Ozzy and the little kill motion of his hand.

He moves forward and bends over double just to be able to whisper into Penguin’s ear. 

Oz scowls and roughly extracts the umbrella, tossing an annoyed look to the top of the stairs. Joker warned them before they started that they couldn’t permanently damage his boy. So the little weasel shouldn’t be surprised.

Not wasting a second, Penguin frees his dick and Joker almost laughs. If Bane’s is proportionately monstrous, Ozzy’s is proportionately... tiny.

Forget double teaming the kid, if Oz wants friction he’s gonna have to find a way to get two other people in there. 

That thought  _ does  _ make Joker laugh. But he manages to keep it to a soft giggle instead of his usual, more... boisterous one.

Whoever was in Jason’s mouth is barked at to hurry it up after Copplepot presses in and meets no resistance. Then Calendar Man and one of the guards manhandle Little J upright. 

Julian lies back on the floor and the guard shifts Jason around until he’s kneeling, straddling Julian’s hips. Day reaches down and guides his dick into the gaping hole. 

Then the guard ties Jason’s hands behind his back, forcing the kid to rest his weight over Day’s protruding gut (again Joker can’t help but laugh at his own joke as he wonders if Day can even see Little J over his belly). 

The guard and Cobblepot take up their positions. Oz  _ barely  _ reaches the height necessary to plant his feet on either side of the two below him and still get his cock in the kid. But Joker supposes it’s better than his dick not being able to reach.

Somehow his Little J is still conscious. But he seems to have lost his voice again. He lays across Calendar Man, eyes bloodshot and staring at nothing. His cheeks are blotching and tear streaked but no more fall past wet, clumped eyelashes. 

Jason squeezes his eyes shut and nuzzles into Day’s belly for comfort as the guard shoves his way in too and starts an eager pace. 

The game’s no fun if Little J is done playing. Which works for Joker because he was starting to get bored. 

Day is expendable but Cobblepot is still useful. Not to mention that the guard’s replacement might be less supportive of Joker’s truly crucial extracurriculars. 

It’d be a pity if all this work goes to waste just because Joker gets a little... excited. He’s not ready for the Bat to unwrap his present just yet.

So Joker waits until they’re finished; until Oz pulls Little J up by his hair so he can spit in the kids face as he comes. 

The other two follow shortly after and when they all pull out, Jason’s hole stays wide open, giving the room a good view at all the sticky, white liquid that doesn’t pour out when there’s nothing stuffed up there to keep it inside.

After giving them a moment to catch their breath, Joker nods at Bane again. As the crowd closes in around Little J, leering and telling him what a dirty, insatiable slut he is, Bane corrals Penguin and the guards away and they make a quiet exit. The others are so preoccupied they don’t even notice.

Slowly, Joker makes his way down the stairs. The crack of a belt precedes a weak shout of pain and is followed by a series of equally loud snaps. The men laugh even louder. Joker can see Jason writhing between their legs as the belt comes down on his already raw back, ass, and thighs. 

“What the hell is goin’ on down here?!” He bellows at the top of his lungs. 

He fires blindly into the crowd of men. 

The thud of a body hitting the floor echoes through the room. Then madness.

Every one scrambles, running for the exit hesitating when they have to run past Joker to do it.

He fires again and this time there’s a wet grunt before a body drops. 

“What the fuck is he doing?!” Someone shrieks.

“Fucking psycho clown!”

“I  _ told  _ you it was too good to be true!”

And just like that, he’s alone with his broken bird. 

His Little J.

His masterpiece.

It’s difficult to keep the glee from his voice. Concern isn’t an emotion he’s burdened with but his boy is in a real bad way and even his ‘obviously faking it’ tone should be more than enough.

“Jason!” He gasps, overly dramatic as he ‘rushes’ to the boy’s side and gingerly scoops him up. “Who did this to you?”

The boy whimpers in this arms. But, as desired, curls closer. Positively  _ clutches _ at Joker’s cloths and sobs into the fabric.

“Come on, baby,” Joker coos. Jason shivers and clings to him tighter. “Talk to me. I can’t fix it if you don’t tell me what happened.” 

“B-B-B w-was here,” Jason stammers, voice dry and scratchy from overuse. “W-wasn’t g-g-good enough... l-left me h-here... th-then... then...”

“There, there, my darling,” he hums and wraps a this, pasty arm around the absolutely filthy pile of skin and bones in his lap. “We’ll make it right. I’ll make sure everyone knows you’re off limits. Okay? No one will ever touch you again. Not even the big bad Bat. Not once they know you’re mine. How does that sound?”

Jason nods weakly, trembling violently in the cold, dank basement covered in bruises and blood and come, red where he’s been beaten.

“Don’t worry, Little J. Big J is here for you now and unlike your previous mentor, I’m willing to protect what’s mine.” He nudges Jason, making him look up at the body of Blockbuster lying not three feet away. “We’ll make sure they all know I’m the only one who gets to play with you. Kill every creep who touched you, ok? Batman. Robin. Nightwing. All of them.”

He counts five ragged, heaving breaths and five wet sobs. Doesn’t bother to hide his trademark grin since Jason is crying into his shirt anyway. If anyone was here to see it, they’d find it wider and more unnerving than ever. 

“You wanna help me with that, pumpkin?”

It takes a long moment but eventually the boy’s breathing steadies. 

He is not surprised when he feels his Little J nod against his chest. But the thick, rank smell of sex and blood suddenly tastes like triumph. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry you had to read Pyg’s horrifying dirty talk 😬

**Author's Note:**

> So kind of spoilery warnings:
> 
> Due to the nature of things, there are some comments about Bruce having adopted Jason and Jason thinking of him as his father and that he thought Bruce considered him his son... you'll notice that Bruce, Dick, and Tim are not listed as characters but because the villains are pretending to be them and Jason doesn't know, it does read like it's them.


End file.
